The Currency of Time Ch. 03

We looked around carefully when we stepped outside. It was already near ten p.m. and there were few people on the street. We didn't see any police patrols. We found our jeep where we'd parked it down the street from the Eldorado. Davidson and Henry and their crew had come in a Lincoln Town Car.

"Follow us. We're heading for the harbor. We have a motorboat there to take us out to a yacht a friend loaned me. It will get us down the coast."

There was more room in the Town Car so Maria and Goldberg's body were guarded by Harper-Stevens and the remaining security guard. Davidson drove. Henry rode with the three of us in the jeep.

As we followed the winding streets toward the waterfront, Henry suddenly said, "Six men died back there. How - how do you - go on like nothing happened?"

"We're not," Overhouser said. "We're just getting out before we wind up spending years in a Guatemalan jail or with our throats cut by those bastards' friends."

I motioned for him to cool it.

"Mr. Henry, we're not acting like nothing happened. Windell was shot and will need medical attention, one of your bodyguards was killed, and I nearly had two holes put in my head. Overhouser is right. There is no way there could be a good ending to our killing Guatemalan nationals and having a wife testify as to how we attacked them. Don't forget. We were the victims. They came after us and we were defending ourselves.

"You're in shock right now because you're not used to experiencing this side of life. This is a different world. We're used to it because we live in it. You're not. Like Harper-Stevens said, just keep moving, go back to your life, and this will all seem like a bad dream."

He was silent while we made our way to the powerboat. Two trips brought all of us to the 50-footer that a Chinese general had said I could use for keeping my mouth shut about activities that would have put him in front of a firing squad. It was small but it was fast and had two bathrooms, a completely equipped galley with some expensive food stuffs (caviar-stuffed shrimp in the freezer), a complete medical kit and an area where you could lay a patient down while sewing up their boo-boos.

There were only four beds but you would throw a blanket down and sleep on deck if more passengers came. Overhouser was constantly riding my ass about learning the proper nautical terminology for beds and stuff. I very reasonably reminded him, "I'm not a fucking sailor and I can call them whatever I want, and besides, I pay YOU. Understood?"

But he remained defiant. If he hadn't been such a good oil man, and so good with the AK-47 I would have fired him. But I figured his services were worth a little aggravation. He had also been a medical corpsman and was good at patching up things, handling broken bones, all the misadventures you could encounter a long way from a regular hospital.

He administered an injection to Maria after laying her down in one of the beds - bunks, OK. She turned over and snored in her sleep. Looking down at her with bronzed skin showing all over the place, long thick black hair cradling that pretty face, I wished that she could forgive me for killing her husband, scumbag that he was. But that wasn't going to happen. If I ever laid down with her, I'd get up minus dick, balls and my head.

"We'll check on her but I think that should keep her down for eight to 10 hours," he said. "Let me give Windell some TLC that will keep him breathing until we reach a clinic in Puerto Cortes," which was a fairly good sized city just across the border in Honduras.

Harper-Stevens and the other bodyguard, a guy named Larry, were at the wheel, Stevens inspecting the layout.

"This is a sweet ride, Mr. McCarthy. When I heard what you did and that you'd left the country, I figured you'd be in some Colombian prison by now."

"A reasonable guess. But fortunately there are enough undiscovered oil fields and people and companies and countries panting to discover them that I've done pretty well. How about yourself?"

"It took about six months to fully recover from that damage that asshole Grove did to my ankle and leg, but I came back. He was one lucky mother-fucker. If he'd ever had the balls to give me a second try, I'd have put him in the hospital, but he didn't turn out to be a bad sort. Married my sister, actually. He's a constable in London now, by the way. And I went with the bank, better pay and benefits. I have a 17-year-old I'm putting through NYU. She's going to be something. About as far from her old man as you can get. I think she'll wind up in the fancy-pants Diplomatic Service and never have to duck bullets or beat a hasty retreat. She's going to go a lot further than I ever dreamed of."

For a big, scary guy, he looked positively cuddly for a moment. Something about kids. They have that effect on big tough guys. I felt a deep pain I couldn't identify for a moment. Then I shoved it back down into the darkness where old dreams lurk.

I heard someone approaching and found Overhouser standing there.

"Let's go below deck and get you sewed up, Boss."

I'd been keeping a cloth against my cheek but it was dripping red and I had to keep wiping the drip of blood into my left eye from my scalp. We headed toward the bunks but Overhouser pulled me toward the small clinic area with the cot.

"I sedated the girl and I gave Windell some strong pain medication that has him groggy. I hope he can sleep some before we get to the clinic in Puerto Cortes. He needs the rest. I can sew you up in here."

I sank down on the cot and stretched out, closing my eyes. He took the pad away from my cheek which hurt like hell because the blood has turned into glue holding the cloth to the flesh. I felt something stinging applied to the cut and I knew he was cleaning it with alcohol.

"That's one hell of a cut, boss. I'll do the best I can and they can work on it at the clinic, but I think it's going to leave a real big scar."

"Shit, that means it's curtains for my big screen career."

He laughed.

"I hate to break it to you, but you weren't good looking enough for the silver screen before Macario shot you."

"Do the best you can. Just don't leave me The Phantom of the Opera."

"I'll use Butterfly steri strips and leaving the serious stitching up to the docs. Let me put some of this topical pain ointment on it and then I'll start. It's still going to hurt."

"I laugh at pain."

I wasn't laughing when he finished, but it hadn't been that bad. He blotted up the blood on my scalp and then buzzed my head with a razor and placed several long Band-Aids from the back of my skull to the front.

"Those are only scratches on top. I think the Band-Aids will stop the bleeding and in the morning they'll be healing."

We sat there silently, feeling the motion of the yacht as its engines pushed it through the waves in the early morning hours, the sound of the hull slapping waves and from somewhere not too far away the toll of a buoy in the dark seas.

"Michael."

I opened my eyes. He virtually never called me anything but Boss. And when he did it was something serious.

"We've been through a lot of scrapes the last five years, haven't we?"

"It's all been fun and games, Ben. But if it wasn't dangerous, your wife would have to give up her volunteer work at the animal shelter and get a real paying job."

He smiled. He didn't talk about his wife much, but when we had had the time and good fortune to find friendly ladies, he always passed on the opportunities presented. And some of the opportunities had been very tempting.

"I don't know how to put it into words, but this is different. I have a bad feeling about all this."

"It'd be hard to have a good feeling about bodies dropping all around us."

"It's more than that. I don't know what's in that briefcase that Davidson is lugging around, but I have an idea. I think you do too. It's money. A lot of money."

I nodded.

"Yeah, I think it's a lot of money."

"The rumors I've heard are that you burned up a cashier's check for ten million dollars. I'm sure it's exaggerated, but-"

"It's not exaggerated."

"You burned up ten million dollars. In an untraceable Cashier's Check?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I had my reasons."

"Temporary insanity?"

"My reasons, Ben. I don't expect you to understand. I don't expect anyone to understand. They're my reasons."

"You think she sent you another check?"

"I don't know any other reason for Davidson and Henry to be here with that briefcase."

"How do you trust anybody? A free ten million would even tempt a rich banker or lawyer. We don't know anything about the bodyguard and Stevens has a daughter he could set for life if we all vanished. I'd trust Windell with my life. But ten million untraceable dollars? Even me, boss, even me. I have a life in Tampa. But I've thought about it. Not hard. But it's crossed my mind."

"It's probably crossed everybody's mind. Which is why we need to get this over with."

I stood up a little unsteadily but got my balance.

"Find Davidson and Henry, Stevens and the other bodyguard. Send them down to the den."

He gave me a nasty look but just shook his head. He knew what I was talking about. The den was in the center of the yacht, with a couch and several chairs, a pool table and a fully stocked bar. I made my way to it. I checked my watch. It was 2 a.m. The witching hour or close to it. Time to bring down the curtain on this shitty melodrama that Deirdre had set up. Reduce the check to ashes, if there was a check, and all the suspicions and paranoia swirling about the yacht would instantly vanish.

Davidson and Henry walked in behind Overhouser. Davidson still looked like he was ready to report to the office, a crease in his pants and his shoes shined. Henry was in his bare feet and his clothing looked like he had been woken out of sleep. A far cry from the polished attorney type I'd seen in Bailey's office five years before.

"I'll head up to get Stevens," Overhouser said. I noticed he carried the AK-47 on his shoulder, even here. Before he could make his way to the door, the surviving bodyguard, Larry, a tall, slim brunette who always carried a .45 automatic on his hip, stepped through the doorway.

"I left Stevens at the wheel. He said he'd already seen this once before and I might enjoy it more."

I sat on the couch and motioned for Davidson and Henry to sit down as well. Overhouser took up position behind the pool table where he could watch us and Larry as well.

Davidson swung the attaché case up on the table between us and reached into a coat pocket to retrieve a small key. He unlocked the handcuff and then a second key opened the case. He popped the case open. Inside were two envelopes. I thought I knew what was in one. I had no idea about the other. I picked up the second, which was fatter and unlike the first bearing handwriting on the outside. I turned the envelope around to read the writing.

"Michael...please read this. Deirdre."

"What the fuck is this?" I said, hurling the letter at Davidson.

Davidson caught it in mid-air.

"Ms. Lancaster asked us to deliver this to you. She hoped you'd read it."

"And why exactly, why the fuck would I read ANYTHING that bitch sent me."

"I can't answer that. I just know she asked you to read it."

"Forget that."

I picked up the thinner letter and ripped the top off. I tapped it and a folded manuscript slipped out. I didn't even have to unfold it. One ten million dollar cashier's check looks much like another ten million dollar cashier's check.

"Anybody got a lighter?"

"McCarthy, don't do anything too hasty. I know you have - hard feelings - toward your ex-wife. But we also know that you could use the money. Don't let your pride blind you to practical matters. I've checked you out and I know you've lost $2 million this year. I don't know how much you have socked away, but $10 million can help."

"Mr. Davidson, I bow to no one in my admiration of your banking expertise. But you don't know everything. I did lose $2 million this year. I came out $3 million ahead last year. So maybe I'm down to my last million. Maybe I have more salted away.

"BUT, if I was down to my last $5, I'd wipe my ass with that check, send it back to Deirdre and tell her to choke on it. I'm not taking anything from her, now or forever."

"Even so, I have to ask," Davidson said. "Are you sure you want to do this? If you don't want it, give it to charity. Give it to Tom Goldberg's family, or at least a part of it."

"Give it to the animal shelter Carrie works at," Overhouser said. "Ten million could save the lives of a lot of stray dogs and -"

I looked up as his head jerked back and a black hole appeared in the center of his forehead. A second later there was another shot and a second hole appeared in his left eye. He fell lifeless to the floor.

The bodyguard Larry swung his .45 away from Overhouser's body and centered it on us.

"Don't anybody do anything rash. I don't think you three are carrying, but Davidson, you stand up and turn around. I want to make sure you don't have any firepower. You're too good. Stand up."

Davidson stood up slowly, spun around, opened his shirt and turned his pockets inside out.

"Okay, sit down. McCarthy, now you. I heard stories about all the pocket pistols you carry. Stand up and strip. Don't be stupid. I might need you guys so I don't want to kill you. But I'm pretty fast and I will kill you if I have to."

I wanted to try something, especially looking at Overhouser's body, but he was focused and ready and obviously had been planning this. The Bond Ranger derringer was the only thing I had on me.

""Two fingers and throw it over here. Carefully."

He picked it up, carefully.

"That is one nasty piece of sneaky hardware. I think I'll keep it."

I glanced as unobtrusively as I could to the doorway Larry had come through. He caught my glance and smiled.

"I wouldn't be counting on any rescue by the big man. He's tough. But three bullets to the back as close to the heart as I could make them, and one to the back of the head took him out."

"You shot him in the back?" Davidson said, anger rising as he spoke,

"I sure as hell wouldn't come up and face him in a shootout. He was too big and too good. And he was too much of an old-school asshole to see the sense of us working together to split millions of dollars. It made more sense to kill him."

I tried as hard as I could to make my face blank, hoping he couldn't read my mind.

He smiled at me, but his gun hand was rock steady.

"And McCarthy, you're thinking about your shotgun wielding friend, Windell. He might have been a problem, but I went down there earlier and put a knife through his heart and cut his throat, just to be on the safe side. Then I pulled a blanket over him. He did try to put up a fight, but he was too groggy."

I made up my mind right then that I might die, but I was going to kill this son-of-a-bitch before I did.

"Oh, and I hated to do it, but your girlfriend, the black haired whore from the bar, had to be taken care of, too. I cut her throat and covered her over with a blanket. She never came to. Really not much of a loss, although she did have a smoking body."

I was rising to my feet when Davidson grabbed my wrist with a grip that didn't feel like an old man.

"Don't. It'll just get you killed."

"The son of a bitch-"

"There are only three of us left."

"That's right," Larry said with a grin that made it mandatory I pull his balls out through his throat. "You three are alive because I might need one or two of you. I don't think I'll need ALL of you."

"You never can tell," Davidson said in a calm voice. "It would really be a bitch to do all this, kill all those people, and then kill the one man you needed to carry this off. We're unarmed. We won't cause you any trouble."

"I hope not, Pops. If I have to, I can always blow this yacht up, get away in the motor boat, and send all your bodies down to the ocean floor. I'm keeping you alive for the convenience."

His gaze moved to the check on the table.

"Henry, you're the pussy of this group so you pick the check up and carry it halfway to me. Drop it on the carpet. Then go back to the couch. Do it slowly. No quick moves and you make sure you don't block my view of the other two. I think you're the one I need the least."

Henry did exactly what he was told, dropped it and then backed away. Larry bent, never taking his eyes off us. He opened the check. The only visible sign of what he was looking at was the slight widening of his eyes.

"Ten million FUCKING dollars! Ten million FUCKING dollars! Cashable anywhere, by anyone."

He ran his finger over the front, as if wanting to know what ten million dollars felt like.

"So you won the lottery?"

He looked up at Davidson.

"I'd say so, Pops. Even if I had to make a deal to turn it into cash, I'll still clear millions."

"I hate to rain on your parade. I'm a banker. You try 'dealing' with anybody in this part of the world and they even suspect what you've got, and you won't live five minutes. You try taking it to any bank, and you'll be dead in 30 minutes. If any government official learns what you've got, you'll wish you were dead in a day or two.

"You give it to me, and with my connections I could arrange to cash it for you. Maybe for a 'reasonable fee.' Maybe a million or two. But on the other hand, you go in to the bank with me and I'll walk out. You won't. You stay hidden somewhere with these two guys as hostages to make sure I come back. But what if they're not as good friends of mine as I make out? I could be on a jet to Jacksonville and you'd be left with two bodies and a lot of bad people coming after you. All that killing for nothing."

"So why shouldn't I just kill you all right now, take the check with me and take my chances?"

Davidson just stared at him. Even though he was unarmed and Larry was an armed and ruthless killer, I began to think that Larry was out of his depth.

"Because if you kill us, you might as well blow your brains out. But, you tie both of them up and leave them on the yacht and we can take the motor boat. By the time they're free, we'll be long gone. And there are places, in Hong Kong and Asia and the Arab Emirates and Dubai where a check like this could be cashed with no muss or fuss. They're used to dealing with much bigger amounts. We're going to be someplace where it won't be easy to just kill me. You're better to run because you'll have a lot of money and a lot of world to hide in."

"Why would you be so good to me? You'd have all kinds of chances to screw me over."

"Because it's not my money. And I have more than I'll ever spend. And a lady with her own bank who'd give me as much money as I ask for. I don't need the check. And you're welcome to run. Honestly, I don't really care if you get away or not. Everybody you've killed have been strangers to me. I'm a banker, not a cop."

I could tell he was thinking about it, considering the odds. And probably fantasizing about retiring to Paradise.

I hate it that that was probably the last thought to go through his head. Followed by a large caliber bullet.

His legs went out from under him as he pitched forward to land face first near Overhouser's body.

A monolith of a man stood swaying in the doorway. As we watched, his pistol fell to his side, his knees buckled and Harper-Stevens collapsed like a huge oak on his side. Davidson was to his side first.

'Stevens."

Blood gushed out of the big man's mouth.

"Sorry. Sorry. Bloody mess."

"Don't apologize man. You saved all of us."

"We thought he'd killed you," Henry said. "He thought he'd killed you."

"He did," the big man said, trying to open eyes that ran red with blood. "But...not easy to kill an SAS."

His eyes closed and he shuddered. Davidson held his bloody head in his hands. He gently slapped Stevens' face. Stevens tried to open his eyes.